


Bluff and Nonsense

by thepixelelf



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Other, Romance, anti fake dating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepixelelf/pseuds/thepixelelf
Summary: Hyunjin never thought one bluff could lead to so much nonsense.
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	Bluff and Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Stray Kids version of "Bluff and Nonsense", another fic I have under this account for Seventeen.

Hwang Hyunjin is a man of many talents. He’s the guy who never lost a game of egg roulette, the guy who always knew how to make the social studies teacher talk about his divorce instead of the world wars, and the guy who slammed a lemon-meringue pie in his high school principal’s face to raise money for charity. He’s also co-choreographer for the university’s dance crew — you barely knew there  _ was _ a dance crew until Jisung started raving all about them — as well as a totally well-rounded fine arts major. Seriously, who takes a  _ calculus _ course in fine arts? Hwang Hyunjin, apparently.

Of his many talents though, lying is not one of them.

Which is why, when asked if he likes anyone, Hyunjin says your name instead of simply saying “no” (a much better option in hindsight). He actually likes a girl on his dance crew. Cute, funny; has those eyes you can just get lost in — lord knows Hyunjin has. But, at this relatively quiet party, with half the guests crowded on Chan’s couch and the other half on the disgusting carpeted floor of his apartment, Hyunjin can’t admit his real crush because she’s sitting just a few feet away.

It wouldn’t be such a bad lie if you weren’t also sitting a few feet away.

You’re on your phone when he says your name in his quickened heartbeat-induced panic, but you look up at the sound of it, as does Jisung, who was also looking at your phone from the beanbag chair you’re both sitting in. 

A chorus of low, teasing ‘ooh’s rises throughout the room, almost like it’s eighth grade again and Hyunjin just got called down to the office. Except now, he might  _ actually _ be in trouble. He gets a few claps on the back from his friends close enough to reach, commending him on his bravado even though he doesn’t deserve it. Really, the whole situation only dawns on Hyunjin after a few seconds, which is a bit too long considering he made the situation in the first place. Blood rushes to his cheeks, not because of the alcohol in his red cup he’s yet to drink, but because you’re looking right at him, and he has no idea what to do.

Hyunjin doesn’t know you very well. In fact, he’d almost say he doesn’t know you at all.

You’re Jisung’s friend from one of his classes — english, if Hyunjin remembers correctly, but he’s not totally confident. The only reason you came tonight is because if Jisung. You don’t know anyone else.

With a tilt of your head, your face scrunches with question, and you look to Jisung for help. You know Hyunjin said your name, but you missed hearing the context. It looks like Jisung missed it too, seeing as the conversation you two have only makes your brow furrow more as the chatter in the room picks back up. Everyone else is already over Hyunjin’s sudden confession when Chan starts talking about something else.

Except Hyunjin’s friends, of course. That would be too easy.

Felix turns to him with a stupidly wide smile, his cheeks red from both the free opportunity to tease his friend and the light beer he’s been sipping and pretending to get buzzed on all night. He nudges Hyunjin with his shoulder where they sit on the floor, leaning in to speak under the conversations surrounding them. “You didn’t tell me you like them,” he says, the jesting tone in his voice clearer than water.

“Yeah…” Hyunjin doesn’t know why he doesn’t just retract his confession. It’s not like Jisung is close to you or anything — he’d understand. But then again, he’s bad at lying, and the girl he likes is still sitting on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s sort of a recent thing.”

Felix’s smile only widens further at Hyunjin’s response, his eyes turning to slits with the rise of his cheeks. “Jinnie’s in looove~!”

And Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, not exactly like this, anyways. So he just looks down; scratches the back of his neck again; looks at one of his dance crew friends when she calls his name.

He doesn’t dare glance your way for the rest of the night.

Turns out you do know someone else other than Jisung. Once most of the guests have cleared out, leaving only half the boys to clean up, Jeongin approaches Hyunjin as he scrubs the sink of whatever that weird green stuff is.

He asks how Hyunjin knows you and says off-handedly that he’s never seen the two of you talk. (Which is right.) He says these things shouldn’t be joked about; that you’re a person with feelings, and Hyunjin should leave you alone if he’s just doing this for comedy’s sake.

Hyunjin thinks he’s never seen Jeongin so serious.

It’s probably fine. You haven’t said anything (good or bad), and other than the occasional tease from his friends, no one has taken anything too far. Maybe you’ll forget about it tomorrow. Maybe  _ he’ll _ forget about it tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

Besides, it’s not like he actually likes you. His real secret is still safe and sound.




Of Hyunjin’s many talents, making people sad is also not one of them.

It’s not that he actively tries to cause misery only to fail, it’s that he can’t stand upsetting anyone. He’s a people-pleaser by nature, that’s just how it is.

So he doesn’t say no when you ask him out for coffee.

And he smiles at you when you try to make conversation, even though it’s awkward and hesitant despite having a mutual friend like Jisung. It’s not so bad, he thinks. You’re trying, at least, and when you ask him about his interests, you actually listen, which isn’t common when he tends to over-explain his love for dance and performance. He has a coffee in his hand too, extra sweet just the way he likes it, so that’s a plus.

You ask him if what he said at the party was true, and something in your eyes makes him say yes.




There are a few more coffee dates after that. It’s nothing official, and Hyunjin is hesitant to call the meetups “dates” because he’s not interested in dating you. But it’s a little late for that.

You seem brighter, though, every time he sees you again; he can’t bring himself to take that away, to cut the cord, to clean this mess he made.

Something about the way you two talk is nice, at least. Hyunjin can’t quite put his finger on it, and he tells himself that’s what’s drawing him back every time — not the guilt he feels sunken in his ribcage whenever you smile his way. It’s not that deep, he repeats to himself whenever you wave to him on campus, making him feel obligated to walk you to class. It’s not that deep.

He’s in the library one day when he spots you at one of the tables, books open and spread out as you scribble down notes, a pair of earbuds dangling from your ears. You haven’t seen him, so he doesn’t approach, just ducks back behind the bookshelf he’s been exploring. His hand is on a book he could use for class when a voice stops him.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?”

Minho leans against the opposite bookshelf, his arms crossed, locked and loaded for judgement. Hyunjin looks around, but of course he’s talking to him, they’re the only ones in the row.

“How… how do you want me to answer that?” he asks, unsure of exactly what Minho’s talking about. Yeah, he knows he’s a bit dense sometimes, but not  _ all _ the time.

Minho rolls his eyes, a smirk on his face. “I know you like Sojung. You haven’t stopped laughing like an idiot at her bad jokes.” He nods his chin outwards, gesturing over Hyunjin’s shoulder and through the bookshelves towards where you’re sitting. “What are you doing messing with Jisung’s friend?”

It’s not too surprising that Minho knows — he’s an intuitive guy, but Hyunjin is still caught off guard. He asks first, under his breath, “Does anyone else know?”

Minho laughs quietly, looking down for a second. “If you mean dumb and dumber, then no,” he says when he looks back up. The dimple in his cheek deepens at the thought of his dance crew mates. “Felix is way too focused on dancing to notice your dumbassery, and Chan is about as observant as a fishcake when it comes to feelings.”

Hyunjin’s shoulder fall in relief, though he didn’t even realize they’d tensed up.

Minho’s smirk vanishes.

“But that’s not the problem here. Why are you playing around with them if you’re into Sojung?”

“I’m not—” Hyunjin pauses, thoughts deliberate, “—I’m not playing around, okay? I just… I don’t know. You were all looking at me, and I couldn’t just say Sojung’s name, she was right there!”

Minho cocks an eyebrow at that. “But you could say theirs?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“You’re and idiot.”

“I’m  _ aware _ .”

Hyunjin groans quietly — he’s still in a library after all. He covers his face with both hands, not wanting to look at Minho nor have Minho look at him. For a second, it’s blissful, awkward silence, which Hyunjin would take over Minho’s scolding any day. But of course, no haven lasts forever.

“You’re gonna have to tell them,” Minho says, and he’s probably right. No, he is right, Hyunjin just doesn’t want him to be.

“I can’t do that! I already said I like them — twice!”

“Twice?”

“Twice!”

Minho only drops his head again, scoffing at the whole situation. Hyunjin wishes he could do that too; just laugh it off because it’s someone else’s problem.

“Well, you’re going to have to say something sooner or later.” Meeting his eyes, Hyunjin realizes Minho might actually be worried. About you, or him, or something else, he’s not sure, but past his external nature, the subtle fold of Minho’s eyelids tells Hyunjin this is about more than just calling out idiocy. “And I think sooner will hurt less.”

Hyunjin knows he’s right. But he doesn’t like it.

Before he can come up with a rebuttal, though, Minho’s hands are on Hyunjin’s shoulders, and he’s pushing him out of the row of bookshelves, straight towards your table.

“Just rip the band-aid while you still can,” he whispers in Hyunjin’s ear right before on last push at his back.

Hyunjin stumbles a bit, but once he regains his footing, Minho’s already gone and you’ve already noticed the ruckus. You pull one earbud out with a bright smile. It’s so jovial that Hyunjin almost forgets why he’s here.

“Hi Hyunjin, I didn’t see you come in,” you say, and there’s no way you’re this energized just from studying in a library.

“Uh… hi.”

“You’ve actually got the perfect timing.” Waiving to him, you gesture for him to sit next to you, and he does. You pull out some sort of planner, opening it to a few months from now. “I wanted to ask when exactly your showcase is? Jisung’s no help at all because he only cares about his concerts and stuff. Honestly. There aren’t that many…”

_ You’re going to have to say something sooner or later. _

Hyunjin picks later.




“So when are you going to ask them out?”

Seungmin stands in front of the stove, watching his hot water simmer, a bag of dry ramen in one hand and long cooking chopsticks in the other. It’s Hyunjin’s turn to make dinner tonight, but since he says he isn’t hungry, Seungmin’s scrounging it out himself.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, sits at their tiny dinner table, his forehead pressed to the cool surface, arms hanging limp at his sides. He mumbles something of a response, but it’s nothing more than a questioning grunt, if anything at all.

“Oh, you know.” Even when Seungmin says your name, Hyunjin stays still. “Only the person you’ve been on several “dates” with ever since you confessed to them at Chan’s party. When are you going to ask them on a real date?”

Tired, Hyunjin groans. “When the time is right, I guess.”




You work on campus. It’s some part-time job you don’t care about enough to even complain over, despite the fact that you have to deal with annoying university kids every day. Hyunjin finds this out when he has coffee with Minho in one of the buildings he doesn’t normally frequent, and only goes to today since Minho has a class nearby in the next hour.

The coffee is bitter, and it’s too expensive, but Hyunjin drinks it anyways. He much prefers the cafe he goes to with you. Because the coffee is better. Obviously.

He hears your voice first, words indiscernible with distance and overshadowed by a much louder, angrier one, but still. Minho sees you first, though, and he points past Hyunjin to the student printing center, where you’re standing behind the counter and arguing with some guy. You don’t seem too riled, but Hyunjin can tell you want to be anywhere but there, especially when the angry guy’s voice keeps getting louder and louder.

Hyunjin’s feet bring him over before his brain can register what to do. You haven’t seen him yet, he could just walk away, but he doesn’t. Your voice becomes clearer as he approaches.

“Listen, the printing center is for education, art, or business. I can’t print this for you.”

The guy goes off about personal freedoms or whatever, Hyunjin isn’t really listening.

“No, I get that this is a  _ student _ printing center, but I really don’t think your big tiddie anime gf poster has anything to do with education, art, or business.”

And that’s when the guy grabs your arm. Which results in Hyunjin grabbing his arm. Which results in the accusatory question, “What are you, their boyfriend or something?”

Now, in a perfect story, this would be the first time Hyunjin meets you. Or maybe you’ve been close friends for a while. And this would be when Hyunjin says that, yes, he is your boyfriend, and he would save the day. Except you’d be all “why would you do that?” which would result in you both having to fake date to keep that guy off your back. In this perfect story, there would be no Sojung to like and no Minho to judge, just you and Hyunjin fake dating. Eventually, you’d both catch real feelings instead of fake ones, and then boom, happily ever after.

But this isn’t a perfect story.

Hyunjin still says yes, and the guy still backs off. In reality though, because Hyunjin never thinks before he lies, you duck behind the counter and bring a hand up to your face to cover your ever-brightening smile. In reality, Sojung still exists at the forefront of his mind every dance practice, even though you’re the one he just promptly claimed to be the boyfriend of. In reality, Minho watches from a little ways away, sipping his coffee and shaking his head in what can only be called disappointment.

Hyunjin’s never been good at lying. One would think he’d stop by now.




So, it’s official.

You’ve put a heart next to his contact name. He’s put one next to yours — red, because he doesn’t know your favourite colour. Jisung’s done the whole  _ if you break my friend’s heart I break you _ spiel and Hyunjin finally realizes he’s in too deep.

It's almost too natural, how easily you bring him into your life and how easily he finds himself fitting. It's all so wrong.

Hyunjin feels like an imposter, like there's someone meant to be by your side, but it's not him.

You pluck up the courage one day to hold his hand, and he can't pull away because the lies tying him to you are too strong. The small bluffs he's spun have weaved themselves into a net he's tangled himself in.

His dance crew congratulates him when Chan spills the news. It's all mundane, really — dating in university isn't all that uncommon. Mostly, Hyunjin gets casual "you go, dude" comments or the like, but then Sojung says nothing. She smiles, and it has to be one of the most tragically beautiful things Hyunjin's ever seen. His heart fractures, just a little, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it.

He smiles it off. Tries to, anyways.

Felix complains that Hyunjin's too harsh that day.




Seungmin likes you.

Not in a "Mister Steal Yo' Girl" way, but he laughed at one of your jokes the first time you came over to Hyunjin's apartment, and ever since then, he's been convinced.

"You must feel like the luckiest guy on earth with them around," Seungmin says once you leave for the night.

Hyunjin has no idea how to tell him he's felt nothing but unlucky these past few weeks, so he doesn't.




He polishes up on his acting. As awful as it is to think, Hyunjin has gotten really,  _ really _ good.

His smile looks genuine. It has to — he shows it to Minho, who says it's "adequate," which basically means perfect to the lowly humans beneath him.

He's gotten good at responding to you too, copying how the boys do it in dramas and movies. It's sort of easy.

He hates how easy it is.

Soon enough, you try befriending the whole group. Being Jisung’s friend, you've always wanted to, but apparently this is the push you needed. The boys are quick to warm up to you because, as Hyunjin's new partner, you're now a new teasing target besides Jeongin. The youngest was always the brunt until you came along.

You say you don't mind — that his friends are amazing despite all the jokes and chaos. He believes you.

Minho keeps his distance, saying he doesn't want to get himself involved. He's still the only one to know the truth, and his judging stare only grows worse as the days pass. Hyunjin wants so badly to make it go away, but he knows the only way to do that would be to tell you the truth, and he's just not ready.

Hyunjin's never broken a heart before. He's never planned on it.

Sometimes life makes its own plans.

"My shift was moved to tomorrow," you tell him when he picks you up from class, one hand in his and the other in your pocket. He knows it means something, but he doesn't know what. Your lips purse into a line as you stare at your shoes. “I was thinking... could I come watch your dance practice? If that’s okay?”

Now, Hyunjin loves dancing. He loves dance. He loves  _ to _ dance. Performing sends an unparalleled thrill rushing through his veins like the solar system hurtling through the universe, and it’s something he’s never felt doing anything else. Dancing with others is a beautiful connection, an emission of silent truths communicated through the body. Practice, however, is the dirty version of dance. It has to be built up first — polished. Which is why Hyunjin says what he says. He doesn’t even think it over.

“No.”

It’s what he says every time someone asks. He doesn’t invite people to practices — never has. Even after his prompt refusal, he doesn’t register his mistake until the light in your eyes wavers. It doesn't disappear — just ripples. Comes back weaker than before.

"Oh," you say. The word should sound dejected but it doesn't. There's a smile at your lips, and Hyunjin can't help but think it looks kind of like his. "That's— that's okay! I was just — I don't know, I guess I just thought... I wanted to..."

Meeting his gaze, you look at him with shaking eyes, almost as if it takes great strength to keep them on his. He tries to backpedal, but you continue.

"I'll be going home then. I've got an assignment due soon anyways, so..." You pull your hand from his grip and, from where you two were walking toward the fine arts building, turn the opposite way. Your dorm is on the other side of campus. "See you tomorrow, Hyunjin. Have fun at practice."

Something about your smile haunts him.

It's hollow; feels empty when you flash it at him before going. He thinks fake smiles all look like that — insincere. His smiles at you must be the same way.

For an awful moment, he's hopeful. Maybe this will be the trigger. Maybe you'll end this tonight — whatever "this" is that Hyunjin has with you. Maybe he won't have to tell any harsh truths at all.

He turns and walks to practice.

The routine feels lighter tonight, though Hyunjin can’t pinpoint why. His body almost floats, and while that sounds good, it’s not. The rhythm is off. He’s not landing when he should be.

His crew notices, especially Felix, who complains that Hyunjin’s too much of a cocksure choreographer to be making repeated mistakes like this. They tell him maybe everyone should take a break. He agrees, but only because he’s frustrated, and he shouldn’t channel his anger into dance. Not this one, at least. 

Everyone spreads throughout the studios to the edges, where they lean their bodies on the walls and slide down, water bottles in hand. The room reeks of sweat and feet, but Hyunjin’s used to it by now. He guzzles down half of his water in one go and pulls out his phone.

[❤]  **Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to react all... cold? Jisung told me you never invite anyone to practice, so it makes total sense why you said no**

[❤]  **If I’m ever crossing any boundaries, let me know, okay?**

Of course you’d be understanding. Hyunjin wouldn’t be that lucky.

He tosses his phone haphazardly in his bag, groaning and throwing his head back so it hits the wall with a dampened thud. The pain is dull compared to the thoughts top-spinning in his mind.

Across the studio, Minho clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Hyunjin when he opens his eyes to look at him. It only takes two reluctant nods for Minho to understand the source of Hyunjin’s groans, and he does nothing to react but look away. Hyunjin thinks that’s almost worse than the judging eyes and smug grin. At least at that point Minho thought he was something other than a lost cause.

He doesn’t text you back. By the time he thinks of something a boyfriend would say, the time to say it has passed.




How much longer is he going to let this go on?

Hyunjin wonders that to himself as he sits, returned to Chan's apartment for another one of his "getties" as people are so apt to call them. He's never understood the difference between a getty and a party, and he's always been too stubborn to ask, knowing he'd be mercilessly made fun of for not knowing something apparently all university students knew.

This one isn't so different from the last. More or less the same crowd, the same atmosphere as the night goes on. Only this time, when everyone's settled down in what can hardly be called a circle, Hyunjin's on the couch, sunken into the too-old cushions with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You're far from your last claimed spot with Jisung on that ratty old beanbag chair, sitting comfortably under Hyunjin's arm with a plastic cup of whatever Chan concocted for you — which you've yet to drink much of.

Sojung sits across from you both while she laughs at something Felix says. You laugh too, but Hyunjin barely notices, eyes glued to the girl they've been stuck on since she joined his dance crew over a year ago. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is when she smiles, even under the light of Chan's dingy apartment, but he can't. He wants to tell her how he's felt for months, but you're next to him. He wants to have a fucking drink but all he has in his cup is fucking iced green tea because he knows if he drinks he'll fuck up again.

Just like last time.

"You okay?" you whisper in his ear at one point.

He turns to see your concerned expression, and it only makes Hyunjin hate this even more. He doesn't deserve your concern.

"I'm fine."

But he's not fine.

He doesn't participate in much conversation — only speaks when spoken to, and even then with few words. You seem to become tense next to him, but he does nothing to try and fix it. Just tonight, he's going to let himself be tired.

Three times, you offer to leave, and all three he refuses. You give up eventually, though he can tell you know something's off. God, if he were drunk, he wouldn't even have to think about you for a whole night.

Somehow the topic of discussion turns to couples, and suddenly, an entire room of eyes is on you and Hyunjin. He barely catches the question before you're already pondering your answer.

_ What do the two lovebirds love most about each other? _

You look at him.  _ At him _ , at him. He feels your stare in the dip of his throat because he can't seem to swallow anymore. It's like his soul is being scanned for viruses.

"Hmm..." You let your chin fall into your palm with a smile. It's real. Too real. "I like his resolve," you finally say. "If he wants to do something, he does it." With a loud exhale through your nose, you tilt your head, still meeting his eyes with your own. Hyunjin's mouth slightly parts, slack with something he can't name. "I could learn a thing or two from him."

The room bristles with your answer, various responses piping up around. Hyunjin sort of registers Jeongin saying, "That's cute. I wanna vomit," but he's too busy thinking about you, about how you've come to like something about him as deep as that when all he's done is pretend to even like you at all.

And even when his mind swims with that, Sojung asks again,

"Then Hyunjin, what do you like about them?"

It sort of hurts. Hyunjin's not afraid to admit to himself that hearing Sojung ask what he likes about you sends pain straight through his ears to his heart. There's an awkward pause and everyone's looking at him expectantly and god he wishes he stole your drink when he had the chance.

"I..." His throat goes dry. His lips part, but there aren't any words to slip past them. "I, um..." He looks to you, and your eyes speak volumes. Everyone else in this room has a sort of... hungry look. They want to know Hyunjin's answer for one reason or another, maybe to tease with or to ridicule or even wish for themselves. But you, your eyes meet his and he knows you're not expecting anything. That hurts too. He doesn't know why. But even then, he can't think of the words. Any words. He steals a glance at Sojung, whose expression is curious, doe eyes slightly giddy from alcohol. She's pretty.

"I like their laugh," he says. It's not about you. "Whenever they laugh, I think to myself, 'What I wouldn't give to see them laugh again'."

Your eyes move to the plastic cup you've got gripped between two hands in your lap, and Changbin points out your flustered smile to the entire room despite the fact everyone can see it as long as they've got working eyes. You purse your lips together to contain the smile, but it doesn't work. Even Hyunjin can see that.

He needs a drink. 

Having to go to the bathroom is a lousy excuse, and Hyunjin knows it, but he whispers that in your ear anyways and retracts his arm from your shoulder before escaping. He does go to the bathroom, a small thing with a shower and no bath, but all he does in there is stare at himself in the mirror. And when that becomes too much, his feet.

Someone else eventually has to use the bathroom for its actual purpose, so he opens it to the banging fist outside and slides past the person back into the hallway. He pauses before walking all the way back. You're caught up in some other conversation now, laughing and dramatically waving your hands as you deny some crazy embarrassing story Jisung’s trying to spill about you. Seems you've already integrated yourself with his friends more than he thought.

Since your attention is occupied, Hyunjin instead ducks into the half-kitchen — not necessarily out of sight, but no one's really paying attention anyways. He knows he shouldn't take any chances, but he really,  _ really _ wants to let go. He's been wearing a facade ever since he said your name that night.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Minho's voice has Hyunjin jerking up and banging his head on the door of the open fridge he was rummaging through. He winces in pain, kneading his fingers into his scalp as if that will do anything.

"Wouldn't  _ what _ ?" he snaps.

Minho tilts his head, and it's almost infuriating how nonchalant he is. "Do something you might regret."

He takes the yet unopened bottle from Hyunjin's hands, reaching beyond him to put it back in place. There's no point in fighting against him since he's undeniably right, but Hyunjin grumbles anyways. His eyes glance every few seconds to you on the couch. If you happen to hear anything...

Well, he doesn't know exactly. But he doesn't want to find out.

"You have to end it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just—" Hyunjin takes in a breath, too loud for his liking. He lowers his voice. "I can't, okay? I don't want to hurt them."

"So you're just going to date them based on a lie just because you're too much of a coward to admit your mistakes?" Minho places his palms flat on the counter.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath through his nose, lips twisting in frustration. "Yeah, okay? Yeah," he whispers. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

A second passes. Minho's brow furrows.

"And quite frankly," Hyunjin continues, "I'd rather you keep your nosy ass out of  _ my business _ from now on."

He nearly storms off right then with the last word, but Minho's fingers around his elbow stop him.

"You're going to get yourself hurt," Minho warns through his teeth. He nods towards you. "And them in the process."

"We'll see about that."

Hyunjin has acted on impulse before. It happened with the lemon meringue pie, it happened with your name, and it's happening right now. Nothing is compelling him other than the absolute need to prove Minho wrong, and even then, he doesn't know why.

He sits back down next to you, his spot saved by some miracle considering the surrounding company. The look on your face is happy, jovial. You must be having a right old time. His nerves strike with a feeling he's never quite experienced before.

When you study his face, no doubt not nearly as cheerful as yours, the expression you held falters to worry.

"You okay?" is once again the question on your lips, quiet, meant for his ears only.

Impulse is a scary thing. Hyunjin hates it almost as much as lying.

He leans in, crashing his lips on yours with his eyes half closed. His lips move and yours don't. Hyunjin can't even be sure you've closed your eyes, but at this very moment, he doesn't care. All he knows is he's angry and Minho is watching.

This isn’t your first kiss — he knows because you’ve talked to him about this very topic. This is, however, to your understanding, the first “real” relationship you’ve ever been in. You told him yourself that you don’t really count that past kiss as your first, that you felt a bit... violated when it happened.

Hyunjin thinks this isn’t all too different.

He steals your second first kiss, and later, staring at the water-stained stucco ceiling of his bedroom, he kicks himself so hard it hurts.




You show up to movie night. Apparently Seungmin invited you — explained it like this:

“You won’t have to be so clingy with me if they’re here.”

At first, Hyunjin thinks Seungmin just wants to drop their roommate movie nights because he’s always complained about them, but Seungmin sticks around during Anastasia; sings along with you during  _ Once Upon a December _ despite the fact that neither of you really know the words. He sits right in front of you two on the couch, cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, that of which he only offers to you twice and Hyunjin once.

Whatever. You’re a better cuddler than Seungmin anyway.

Somehow it doesn’t feel forced when you lean your head on Hyunjin’s shoulder, or when he wraps his arm around your waist to get comfortable. He blames it on how tired he is, how he always gets on movie night after a week of classes and practices and too much work for one person to handle. Seungmin complains all the time that he’s too touchy when tired.

You absentmindedly play with his fingers for most of the movie. He doesn’t mind.

It’s been about a month now.

Hyunjin doesn’t kiss you again after the first time. Doesn’t stop you, either, but you’re more of an on-the-cheek kind of person. He thinks you think he wants to take this slow, even though he initiated the first big step (as convoluted as it was). He lets you think what you want.

Nasty business, it is.

Cleaning a bowl that once held popcorn. All the grease that sticks to the side because Seungmin likes to use too much butter. All the grains of salt that get underneath Hyunjin’s fingernails. He’s washing, Seungmin’s drying. It’s an arrangement of sorts.

You’ve already left for the night, gone back to your dorm since it’s only a five minute walk or so through campus. Seungmin insisted on Hyunjin escorting you, but you only smiled sweetly and refused. Maybe Hyunjin should’ve argued harder against you. He didn’t though. That’s why he’s scrubbing a bit too harshly now — he doesn’t like messing up.

Seems that’s all he’s good for lately.

“You’re unhappy.”

Hyunjin stops scrubbing. The only noise in the whole apartment is the slow gurgle of the sink because even with a plug, such an old thing just lets the hot water seep away as the seconds go by. Seungmin’s gaze is on the pan he’s drying, but Hyunjin knows his heart is in the question. It always is.

“I’m not,” he tries to deny, but it’s difficult to fool a person like Seungmin. (Especially since Hyunjin can’t even convince himself.)

The non-stick pan from yesterday’s dinner clangs against an older one when Seungmin puts it away. He looks at Hyunjin, but by then he’s turned back to washing the popcorn bowl, so their eyes don’t end up meeting.

“I’ve known you since tenth grade. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

Hyunjin finds it hard to read Seungmin’s feelings most of the time. He didn’t realize he was such an open book the other way around.

Sighing, he continues to scrub the bowl, which has probably been clean for a minute already. “I’m just... stressed.”

“About?”

Minho already knows; already thinks lowly of Hyunjin for it. If Seungmin knew... Hyunjin doesn’t know if he can take that.

So he lies. Again.

“Just the dance showcase.”

It isn’t a whole lie, not really, but he can’t call it the truth either.

Seungmin takes the bowl from Hyunjin’s grasp and rinses it under the tap. Since that’s the last dish, Hyunjin is stuck with nothing for his hands to do. They rest on the edge of the sink, but his fingers ache for a task.

Seungmin, the friend that he is, says, “That’s not for three months, though. I’m sure you’ll be perfect by then.”

“I don’t know...”

“Well I do.” Eyes meet eyes, a pair determined, a pair apprehensive. “Everything will work out.”

“...Okay.”




Hyunjin measures time in terms of you now.

When he last texted you. When he last saw you. When he last spoke to you.

It’s all a very elaborate calculation — how much time he’s spent on you versus how much time he  _ should _ spend on you. No relationship is quite like this one, he thinks, and it’s quite the romantic notion out of context. The fact remains, every interaction he has with you only pulls him further and deeper into his lie.

Hyunjin’s time moves a bit slower now.

Faster, sometimes, but only when he doesn’t want it to.




You tell him you might be in love with him.

He says he might be in love with you.

He’s never hated lying more.




Seungmin is cleaning out the fridge when the buzzer goes off, so since he’s close by, he picks up the old corded phone attached to the wall. From his spot on the couch, Hyunjin looks up from his phone to see Seungmin cover the receiver and mouth your name. Seungmin makes some sort of gesture with his hands, and somehow Hyunjin understands that as:  _ were you expecting them? _

His eyes widen as it settles in that no, he’s not expecting you. The apartment is a mess.

Seungmin buzzes you in, hangs up, and immediately moves from the fridge to the coffee table, throwing the laundry he was planning on folding back in the plastic hamper and shoving the pile in Hyunjin’s lap.

“Take care of this,” he says. “I’ll clear up the kitchen.”

Right. Can’t have you thinking your boyfriend and his roommate are slobs.

Hyunjin reacts quickly, standing from his spot on the couch with the laundry basket in hand. He dashes to his room, where he plans to stuff the laundry in his closet and save that problem for later, but once he gets there, he realizes his room is even worse. There are dirty clothes dispersed all over his bed and old coffee cups littering his desk. Scrambling to shove the new laundry in his closet, the dirty clothes in the now empty hamper, and gather all the paper cups in his arms, Hyunjin’s breath starts to catch.

When he emerges from his room with two armfuls of garbage, he finds you at the door with Seungmin, your face hidden in his shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around his waist. Seungmin’s arms are up, almost like he’s being held at gunpoint, and his eyes widen even further when he catches sight of Hyunjin.

“Uhh... it’s for you.”

Hyunjin can hear your quiet hiccups even though they’re muffled in Seungmin’s shirt. He can’t bear it when people cry.

Yeah, maybe he’s been pretending to like you for a long time now, but he’s not a monster.

Right?

He likes you as a person. As a friend. And there’s no way he’s letting his friend go through pain like this.

Hyunjin swiftly discards his trash into the garbage bin and approaches you and Seungmin. At the commotion, you lift your head from Seungmin’s shoulder, and it's clear on your face how much you've been crying. Your lips press together, emotions nearly bursting at the seams, but they finally break out when Hyunjin opens his arms wide.

“C’mere.”

You practically flail into his embrace, arms wrapping around his torso in a vice grip as you hide your face again. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay — he knows you’re not.

Seungmin stands in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at you and Hyunjin clutching at each other in the middle of the apartment before he shuts the front door and clears his throat.

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll be — um. Mhm. Yup.”

He escapes to his room.

Hyunjin squishes his cheek to your temple as you both stay there. You’re shaking, and his arms squeeze tighter. If only he could make it stop. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make you feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, though quiet and hesitant.

You shake your head, mumbling something he can’t quite make out. He pulls back a bit, just enough to see your face and gently cup your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs rub at your wet cheeks, smoothing any stray tears across your skin.

“What’s that?”

“Just...” Your eyes glisten. His heart beats. “Could you please just hold me?”

And he does.

Decidedly, his bed is much more comfortable than standing in the living room, so he sways, rocking side to side with small steps that force you to walk backwards. His smile, though, is reassuring, and you follow his guidance without much complaint. He sits you down on his bed, thankful that he cleaned up beforehand, and slowly leans you down so you’re both on your sides, facing each other. Pulling you closer, he lets you rest your head on his chest. Your hand lies flat on top of him, but eventually your fingers curl, clutching a bit of Hyunjin’s shirt between them. Silent tears fall from your eyes to his chest, but he doesn’t care.

His arm underneath you wraps around, hand landing on your back so his thumb can rub soothing circles.

It’s quiet.

Funny. Hyunjin used to dislike silence with you — always felt the need to fill it with conversation or jokes or laughter. He wonders when it was last since he felt that way.

Hyunjin doesn’t know how much time passes. His eyes stick to his bedroom ceiling as he holds you close, thoughts on everything and nothing all at once. Are you asleep? Your tears stopped some time ago.

His question is answered when your voice, small and unsure, breaks the long-standing silence.

“Hyunjin?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you about it?”

He cranes his neck to look at you, but it doesn’t really work. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I know, but—”

“You’re not.”

You look up at him finally, and seeing your smile sends warmth through his blood. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but your smile pushes all that out of the way.

“Thank you,” comes past your lips in a whisper. Then, after a moment of waiting, you say, “It’s just that... I... this — ugh.” You hide your face in his shirt again. “This is so embarrassing. I don’t even know why I got so worked up.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond to that, just pats your back a few times and encourages you to keep going. You toy with the fabric of his shirt.

“This guy I used to know — I thought I’d never see him again, but he showed up today. Ran into him when I was walking back from the convenience store.” You bite the inside of your lip. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time, but, I don’t know, I guess seeing him just brought all these memories back all at once.”

“Bad ones?”

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Sure, you could say that.”

The silence comes back, and your brows furrow, almost like you’re trying to solve the problem all on your own. But you don’t have to. Hyunjin is here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my first kiss? Like, my  _ real _ first kiss?”

Hyunjin hums. Of course he remembers.

“Back in high school, I used to have this friend. Sammy. She was — god, she was  _ beautiful _ . And kind, and smart, and just... amazing. I miss her a lot. She’s abroad these days, travelling the world with her sister. I think she’s in Peru now.” You chuckle at the mention of your old friend, but soon your smile twists into a frown. “This guy... I don’t like saying his name, but he liked Sammy. Everyone did, I don’t blame him for that, honestly. He was pretty popular back then — one of those sports boys, you know? Thinking about it now, he could’ve easily gotten with Sammy if he hadn’t been so conniving.”

“Conniving?”

“Yeah, he was... I don’t know how he got the idea in his head, but he came to me first. He kept hanging out with me, taking me on these... dates? But they weren’t really dates, all we did was talk about Sammy — what she liked, what she didn’t like. I knew he was using me, but I just... let him, I guess. Maybe back then I was just so caught up in being needed that I didn’t really mind being used.”

Hyunjin hugs you tighter.

“I guess he felt sorry, maybe? Right before he went to go ask Sammy out, he just... laid one on me. It was stupid. Like a pity kiss for my service or whatever. I wasn’t in love with the guy or anything, but it felt so... degrading. Like all I deserved was some action from a conventionally good-looking guy."

Your tears come back, brimming at the edge of your eyelids.

“I don’t know, it just — it just made me feel so...”

You take a breath. Exhale.

“...worthless.”

Hyunjin doesn’t fail to see the irony here, at least, but he feels slightly lifted. Whoever this guy is, Hyunjin’s a million times better.

“You’re not worthless,” he says — because he knows it’s true.

“I know.” You readjust yourself curled around him, wiping away the tears which haven’t fallen. “I mean, I know now.” Sighing, you wrap your arm around his waist, somehow pulling him closer than he already was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you. For letting me be me.”

“It is my absolute pleasure to serve you, your majesty.”

You wack him with the sleeve of your sweater. “You’re such a dork!”

Your laugh is nice. Hyunjin hopes to hear it again soon.

“You know,” you say, eyes closed as you lie there with him on his bed. “Normally I would’ve gone to Jisung with my problems, but tonight...”

“Tonight?”

“You make me feel safe, Hyunjin. Thank you.”

His eyes close. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “that, and if I told Jisung, he would’ve found the guy and beat him to a pulp.”

“Why can I see that?”

“Because it’s true.”

You stay the night.




With a group of friends as big as Hyunjin’s, it’s about once every blue moon that the boys find a time that works for everyone, especially coming up on finals season. They all have their own worries around this time: the dance showcase, the big play, last-minute assessments, and — of course — finals.

So when they’re all free for barbecue one night, everyone’s ecstatic. Reservations are made, gratuities are calculated, and the group chat blows up every few hours with various changes to plans. (Mostly from Changbin, who’s eager to show off his grilling skills.)

But of course, university is university, and it’s inevitable that someone has to bail out. That someone being Hyunjin.

The dance showcase creeps up a bit faster than anyone likes, and now Hyunjin’s professor is forcing him to choreograph an entire song for some freshmen only a month before the whole thing goes onstage.

First of all, who signs up for a showcase only four weeks before the performance? Who  _ lets  _ them sign up?

And second of all, doesn’t his professor realize Hyunjin has a life? He’s got other dances to work on, other classes to study for,  _ friends to have barbecue with _ . How is he supposed to cram an entire choreography — not to mention the time it’ll take to teach the freshmen — into his already hectic lifestyle?

But Hyunjin is a people-pleaser. He doesn’t say no.

Instead, he regretfully messages the group chat, saying he can’t hang out tonight in favour of attempting to choreograph at least a quarter of the song in one sitting. He gets the usual whining, but they all know they can’t change his mind, so it fades out fast.

What he doesn’t expect is for them to invite you instead.

“It’s an eight person reservation,” Chan reasons. “Besides, they’re basically one of us by now.”

Hyunjin can’t exactly argue with that.

So, you go to the restaurant with them while Hyunjin heads to the studio. Minho picks you up along with Jeongin and Felix, which sends an anxious bit of worry down Hyunjin’s spine, but he does nothing about it. If Minho wanted to tell you, he would’ve by now.

You send him a good luck text.

**[** 🍥 **] Don’t let those kids work you into the ground!**

He stares at your words for a bit, distracted from finding the song he’s supposed to use. Your contact name is different now — one of those naruto fishcakes because of that time you took him out for ramen. That night had been full of laughter and loud, borderline obnoxious slurping, ending with the beautiful finale of Hyunjin throwing a fishcake straight into your open mouth.

You were the one that sweet-talked you both out of getting banned.

Hyunjin finally opens his music app and finds the song the freshmen requested (a rather boring one, if you ask him) which he sets to max volume. He doesn’t bother plugging his phone into the speaker system, not when he’s the only one in the studio.

Maybe he can do this.




“The trick is to add eggs and use less water,” you say as you scoop more batter onto the waffle iron.

Seungmin snorts from where he sits at the table, still shoveling more whipped cream and strawberry-smothered waffle in his mouth. “Are you sure the trick isn’t to just not be Hyunjin?”

“Hey!” Hyunjin pauses his own eating just to pout. “My waffles are good!”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

Both of you laugh at Hyunjin’s expense, only further accentuating the pout on his face. You and Seungmin are too alike in that aspect. Well, actually, Hyunjin knows you’d never laugh  _ at _ him, but he still can’t be sure about Seungmin. One time, back in high school, Hyunjin tripped over (what he thought was) a dead bird, and Seungmin laughed for hours — though Hyunjin always exaggerates the story into him laughing for days.

You sit down next to him with your own plate of waffles. There’s flour dusted on your arms, but you don’t seem to mind.

“You’ve got a little...” You point a finger at the corner of your mouth.

He knows. Hyunjin can feel the cool whipped cream right where you say it is.

He smiles wide. “I’m saving it for later.”

“Hmm...”

You say nothing, just smile as you lean in, kissing the corner of his lips. It’s quick, chaste, and barely a real kiss, but Hyunjin’s heart bounces in his chest. He’s never been kissed like that before.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

That thought, though, he pushes back for another time.

“Gross. You guys made me lose my appetite,” Seungmin says. He keeps eating.




With eyes drooping shut every few seconds, Hyunjin decides it’s time to call it quits on the calculus homework. It’s nearly one in the morning, anyways. He flips his textbooks shut and gathers up all his notes, putting them all in a haphazard pile that he’ll worry about in the morning. Swivelling in his chair, his eyes land on you.

Oh. He forgot you’re here.

You’re snuggled up on top of his covers, one arm wrapped around the pillow your head should be on, eyes closed as even, slow breaths come past your slightly parted lips. One of his hoodies is draped over your legs like a blanket. He wonders why you didn’t just get under the covers.

Well, he has been walking you home ever since he hadn’t some time ago. Maybe you were waiting.

He feels a bit guilty as he brushes his teeth and washes his face, but not too bad since you only have afternoon classes tomorrow. Maybe he can treat you to something in the morning to make up for it.

After he tucks you under a fluffy throw blanket, he crawls into bed and lies on his side, facing you.

Your other hand is lax, palm up and fingers curled, almost like you’re holding something invisible.

His hand would fit perfectly.

The tips of his fingers graze over the lines on your palm. Slow. Trepidatious.

You shift, fingers unconsciously curling around Hyunjin’s hand.

He closes his eyes.




The moves aren’t working.

The moves aren’t working and the music isn’t working and the dance isn’t working and  _ nothing is working _ .

Hyunjin groans in frustration, almost screaming with his fingers threaded through his damp hair as he messes up yet another landing. He’s drenched in sweat, and it’s only been so many hours since the rest of the crew left for the night, not that he’s kept track.

It’s less than a week until the showcase. Six days, as Felix is apt to remind everyone with his stupid holiday countdown app.

That freshmen choreography is already over and done with — Hyunjin’s made it, he’s taught it to those over-eager nuisances, and if they need anything more, that’s on them. They’re no longer his responsibility.

That’s not what has him in such a state right now.

His solo — the one he’s been planning for the entire semester — it just doesn’t...  _ feel _ right. He’s been slaving over it for days now, reworking the steps, figuring out what to take out and what to replace. But the more he fixes it, the more it feels wrong.

He can’t get the steps right. He can’t get anything right.

What is wrong with him?

He starts the music again at exactly one minute, thirty-eight seconds. The moves are clear in his mind. One step. Two steps. Sweep. Spin. Jump—

He falls.

The music goes on.

Hyunjin slams his fist onto the softwood floor, cursing at his ineptitude. He stays like that for a moment, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms. The song ends, only to restart again, but Hyunjin barely notices.

Screw the music. He stands; positions himself; tries again.

Again.

Again.

_ Again _ .

He falls.

He yells out at the floor, at his feet, at whatever is holding him back.

His reflection in the mirror stares back at him.

Mind blank, he sits there, legs stretched out in front of him as he hunches over, eyes closed to the world around. His breaths come out shaky and uneven, but even though every moment sitting still feels like eternity, his lungs fail to calm.

Someone knocks on the door, and for a second, Hyunjin thinks it’s Jisung coming to tell him to go home for the night. He doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t look up.

The door opens, he can hear the quiet shuffling of hesitant feet that have removed their shoes just because the sign on the door told them to.

“Hyunjin?”

Your voice is clear — like a single drop of water coalescing into a whole — and it cuts through the sound of blood rushing past Hyunjin’s ears.

He looks up to see you standing a good length away, almost like you’re scared to approach. You’re wearing pyjamas, a thick sweater pulled over your shoulders and fuzzy socks donning your feet. Something bulges from the pocket of your sweater.

“What are you...”

“Minho called me.”

In the back of his mind, a small part of Hyunjin wonders exactly when you and Minho have gotten close enough to call each other, but the thought doesn’t stay for long. It can’t, really, not when you’re in front of him.

When Hyunjin says nothing more, you take another step forward. “What’s wrong?”

To anyone else, he might say nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

His voice breaks when he tries to laugh.

“Everything.”

Your eyes soften, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s not one of those pitiful smiles, he can tell, but it’s not fake, either. You bring your hands together in front of you, fiddling with the tips of your fingers as your eyes move from them to his gaze again. “I’m coming over. Is that okay?”

He nods.

First, you find his phone and turn down the music until it’s gone. You sit right behind him, legs spread on either side of his body, and you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing flush to his back and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. He squirms a bit.

“I’m all sweaty,” he tries to argue, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Yeah, you are.”

He stops resisting. It’s much too hot, what with his hours of constant exercise and your thick layers, but he can’t complain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” This time it’s your turn to ask.

“...Just hold me?”

And you do.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck. Slow, soft, and when your lips leave his searing skin, your forehead replaces them.

That’s when the dam breaks.

Hot, fat tears roll from Hyunjin’s eyes down his cheeks as sobs rack through his chest. The vibrations shake him and you all at once, but your hold never falters. He can’t see anything, only a blur of what should be his legs and your arms wrapped around his stomach. His hands go to clutch at your arms, desperate to hold onto something; to not let him sink.

It’s ugly, the way he cries, but you let it happen. You hold him.

This is what it’s like.

Eventually, his desperate hands find yours, his arms crossed so his right is over your right, his left over your left. His fingers roam over the smooth backs of your hands until they reach your fingers and interlock. The palms of your hands are warm compared to his fingertips.

You’ve locked onto his body language by now — you’re fluent, so you know to continue pressing reassuring, slow kisses into his skin. You know to whisper little words that should mean nothing, but coming from your lips, mean everything.

He’s going to be okay.

For some reason, coming from you, he believes it.

You hold him until the hiccuping stops, until the tears are just dry streaks on his face, until his breath comes out in long streams instead of bursts.

His eyes stay shut as he feels you shift. One of your hands slips out of his grasp, your arm reaching back, and Hyunjin almost whines until he feels it’s return.

“Look,” you whisper.

It itches to open his eyes, but when he does, he sees what’s in your hand, right in front of him. A small stuffed llama sits in your palm, a velvet heart hanging off one side of a saddle like it’s carrying precious cargo. Upon the heart, stitched white letters read:

_ It’s no prob-llama! _

You chuckle lightly, repositioning yourself so your chin hooks over his shoulder. “An awful pun, I know. I was going to give this to you the day of the showcase, but I think you could use it right about now.”

Gingerly, Hyunjin lifts his hands together, and you place the plush in his awaiting palms.

His voice is slow to restart, but he manages to say, “Thank you.”

Hands now free, you wrap yourself around his waist again. “Anything for you.”

Such a simple sentence, that, and yet the confession sends blood to Hyunjin’s ears in the form of an awfully embarrassing blush. He runs his thumbs over the fluffy fabric of the llama plush.

“Hyunjin?”

“Hm?”

You press your lips to the crook of his shoulder, voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t force you to stop practicing. I know this is important to you.” Hyunjin feels your breath fan over his skin. “But I also want you to rest — you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

One of your hands rises to his chin, guiding it up so he looks forward at the studio mirror and meets your gaze in the reflection.

“Whaddya say we do, hm?” You tilt your head, and Hyunjin thinks his pupils may be heart-shaped. “Do you want to practice more? Or can I take you home?”

“Just...” He swallows what’s left in his dry mouth. “Just once more.”

You smile. “Okay.”

As you get up, you run your hands up to Hyunjin’s shoulder and down to his hand, where you playfully pretend to pull him up with you. He laughs, hiding his face behind the llama plush for a second before he stands, tugging your hands as he does so you fall into him when he rights himself. Both your hands are squeezed between him and you, while his unoccupied arm finds its way to your side.

Another smile tugs at your lips at the proximity. You shift your hands up so they wrap over his shoulders, linking behind his head. Leaning closer, your eyes gleam under the fluorescent lights. To the sound of silence, you sway together, waltzing in the dead of night.

“I’ll be outside, okay?”

Hyunjin’s expression tightens, eyebrows shifting in confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” you say, “I know how you feel about audiences during practice.”

Something about your smile right now makes Hyunjin feel so undeniably safe. You understand him. Never once have you questioned him over why he doesn’t invite you to practices, never once did you pressure him to change that.

“Do you know how I feel about you?”

“Hmm, do I?”

_ Do you? _

“Stay.”

And you do.




Here’s the thing about dance showcases:

They’re big, they’re flashy, they take the entire year to plan, and they’re over in one night.

Hyunjin stands in the wings, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, hopefully not loud enough for anyone to hear. He watches as the group performing before his solo finishes up their dance, though he knows there is at least a minute before he’ll have to go on.

A tap on his shoulder makes him turn his head, and he sees Sojung’s smiling face.

“Nervous?” she asks, her voice hidden beneath the music.

She’s all dolled up, dressed in her costume with a sleek leather jacket to bring everything together. Her eyes glimmer just as much as her eyelids.

“You have no idea,” Hyunjin jokes, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Sojung tilts her head; blinks a few times. “You’ll do amazing. You always do.”

For what it’s worth, Hyunjin hasn’t forgotten his attraction. Sojung’s words soothe him to some extent, pump him up, even. It’s slightly terrifying — how much she still affects him even now.

You’re in the audience tonight, third row from the front, somewhere in the middle. Your seat is between Jisung’s and Seungmin’s, whereas the other two came (almost) too late and had to find seats elsewhere.

The music ends, applause erupts, and Hyunjin knows it’s his turn. He waits for the group to exit on the opposite side, and when the resounding claps quiet down, he takes the first step onstage.

Something Hyunjin has almost always known: stage lights are blinding. If they’re set up right, anyone onstage will have a damn hard time seeing anyone in the audience. He can’t see you — couldn’t during his previous performance with the crew, either. The only reason he knows you’re there is the million assuring texts you sent him before you had to turn off your phone for the show.

But he knows you’re there. He knows you’re watching.

Hyunjin stands with his left foot on the spike mark, right where he’s practiced time and time again ever since they transitioned into the space. Music floods his veins, and the world is gone.

He wouldn’t call it an escape. Hyunjin doesn’t use dance to get away, it’s not like that. This world he creates with dance — this other space where nothing exists except him and the music and the floor and the  _ feeling —  _ he chooses to go there. Euphoria, he thinks it might be called. Euphoric.

The space takes him. He lets it.

And then it’s over.

Hyunjin’s breath leaves him in bursts, his shoulders heaving despite how hard he fights to keep them still in his final pose. His back faces the audience, his right arm stretched out and up, fingers curling around nothing. Stars dance before his eyes — which he fails to catch with his outstretched hand.

He thinks he can faintly hear applause, but it’s nothing compared to the heart beating in his chest. Your voice plays in his ears, yet he knows it’s simply his imagination — his recollection.

_ I like your dance,  _ you’d said that night.  _ I’m no expert, no judge, but I like it. I love it, honestly. Your dancing... I don’t know. I wish I had the words. It’s like... a little box. _

_ A little box? _

_ You’ve got a little box in your hand. Brown, maybe the size of your palm. You open it and there’s no bottom, no sides, no shape, just an expanse of universe in blues and pinks and purples and whatever colours we don’t know exist. You look inside and reach your hand in, somehow fitting in the tiny yet infinite space. Your fingers brush through starlight like strands of silk, like the rays are minnows you’ve met during a summer dip. Like that. A little box. _

_ I thought you said you didn’t have the words? _

_ I don’t. Not enough. _

Hyunjin vaguely registers the lights going black, the way his feet drift him offstage, the music of the seniors’ finale.

At some point, the lights are back on. Not the stage lights, but the harsh fluorescents once the audience has fully filtered out into the lobby. Most of them will leave, but the family and friends of performers are sure to stay, waiting there to congratulate and fawn over the dancers as soon as they’re let go for the night. Somewhere in his mind, Hyunjin knows his friends are outside waiting for him — him, Minho, and Felix.

Roses are passed around. He’s never seen a blue rose before, but some dancers walk around with them as they change out of costume and gather their things. He points out a yellow rose from the bunch presented to him, but it turns out to be a bouquet for him specifically, and he takes the whole thing with his jaw slightly hanging. Everything’s a bit... slow. Hyunjin feels like he’s wading through water.

He hasn’t changed yet, simply standing in his costume as he watches people go back and forth. Other performers move from dressing room to dressing room, cleaning up what they have to while simultaneously patting each other’s backs. Techs go around making sure everything’s in order, nothing lost or forgotten. They put away the MC’s microphones and bother the dancers for not taking proper care of props even though it’s only been one night.

Another tap on his shoulder; it’s Sojung again.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

He follows her to a corner of the stage, where the curtains hang and hide the two — for the most part.

She turns almost too abruptly, causing Hyunjin to stumble over his own two feet to avoid bumping into her.

“This is really hard for me to say,” she starts. “But I have to get it out.”

Hyunjin nods, maybe saying something close to a confirmation, but he can’t really tell. He’s a little lightheaded. Sojung has changed out of her leather, instead now in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. That’s the thing about Sojung, though, she has that unnamed sort of... effortless beauty. Even with her stage makeup wiped off, she glows.

“This might be one of the last times I ever work with you, you know? Next year, my parents are making me quit dancing so I can focus on my major. It sucks, yeah, but they’re right. I need to focus if I want to succeed. You know that too, don’t you? The need to succeed?” She takes a breath; laughs bitterly. “Sorry, I’m getting off track... I just — I wanted to tell you this because if I don’t tonight, I might never get the chance again.”

Maybe Hyunjin has dreamed of this moment. He can’t be sure, not yet, so he let’s her continue.

“I like you, Hyunjin. I have for a while. But things happened, and you got together with...” her voice trails off. “And you seemed happy, after a while. I thought maybe I could just keep it hidden but, I don’t know, I think I need to tell you, to get closure because I'm not sure if I can go on without at least—”

Choices. Hyunjin — and everyone else in the world — has only made it through life with decisions. He’s made good ones. Bad ones. He’s had regrets and he’s had none. This, though, this choice is intensely apparent.

Apparent in the way he  _ knows _ it will affect much more than he wishes.

He kisses her.

God, this is what he wanted, right? What he’s wanted for  _ so long _ . He used to toss and turn at night over the thought of Sojung’s eyes; her smile; her lips.

And on his, they were heaven. Plump and soft just like the romance novels say, moving at the exact pace of his heartbeat.

The hand holding his bouquet drops to his side as the other goes to cup Sojung’s cheek. Faintly, the sound of paper fluttering to the ground reaches his ears, but nothing can distract him from this moment.

Until, of course, it ends.

Sojung pulls away. “We can’t— I don’t—”

Someone clears their throat.

Hyunjin turns, finding Minho standing just off from the curtains, arms crossed and face contorted in thinly-veiled anger.

And you.

You’re standing next to Minho, obviously shocked — over being seen or what you’ve seen, Hyunjin doesn’t know. Hands fisted and held close to your chest, your eyes widen as they meet Hyunjin’s.

It’s not so dramatic as the movies.

Hyunjin stares at you, tongue unmoving with nothing to say. You stare back, almost frozen, until Minho gently takes you by your shoulders, forcing you to turn and leave the way you must’ve come. Nothing happens in the time it takes. Hyunjin simply watches.

He’s never been good at reading lips, but he thinks he knows exactly what Minho whispers in your ear.

_ There’s something you should know _ .

Sojung mutters, “Sorry,” and leaves. She looks guilt-ridden as she does, but even in his half-frozen state, Hyunjin knows all of this is on him.

He stands alone in that corner of the stage, the only noise being the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of the last stragglers in the dressing rooms. His hands clench, and the brown paper of the bouquet crumples. He looks at it then, at the yellow roses and baby’s breath, at the beige note that’s fallen to the floor.

Slowly, he crouches, picking up the note with his thumb and forefinger.

_ Congratulations Hyunjin!! I know how hard you’ve worked for this night, which is why I ordered these to be delivered. Chan told me yellow roses represent happiness, or something. Pretty, right? You deserve every happiness, so I decided to start with flowers. Tonight may be over, but who knows, maybe we’ll find happiness in tomorrow, too. _

It’s stupid. It’s not a love letter. It’s laced with love, though, and he hates that he recognizes your handwriting.

Time moves heavily as Hyunjin turns to the backstage door. He’s the only one left now, his station in the second boy’s dressing room is messy, unlike everyone else’s. His reflection stares back at him while he sits in front of the mirror, motions halved in speed as he wipes off his eye makeup.

It’s over.

When was the last time he thought about how it would end?

He changes out of costume, arms growing stiff, and stuffs everything in his bag without much care for how. His regular clothes itch; he longs to scratch at his skin, but he doesn’t.

He leaves your bouquet on the counter.

His friends stand in a circle in the lobby, brows furrowed and voices hushed as they discuss... something. Hyunjin has a bad feeling he knows  _ exactly _ the topic. Minho isn’t there. Nor are you.

Seungmin isn’t around, either, but Hyunjin remembers he had to leave immediately after the performance. Something about an essay. It doesn’t really matter now, not compared to this.

When he approaches his friends, they quiet down further. Half of them look his way with a frown, while the other half choose to avert their eyes. What do they know?

Jisung stands out the most. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and anger radiates from his very being. Of course he’s mad. You’re his friend.

The silence consumes Hyunjin as he nearly shrivels under his friends’ gazes. He must have taken his time, the lobby is empty except for them.

“Where’s Minho?” he asks.

Jisung lurches forward, but both Chan and Changbin bring up their arms to hold him back. 

“Where’s Minho?  _ Where’s Minho? _ ” he seethes. He jabs an accusatory finger in Hyunjin’s face. “You just kissed some girl and broke my best friend’s heart and you’re asking about  _ Minho _ ?!”

So they don’t know. Not really.

Hyunjin endures the scolding. The looks. The questions. The noise.

No answers are really given.

The great thing about having best friends is that they know not to pamper you when you’ve done wrong. That’s also the worst thing about having best friends.

Jisung would go on and on, surely, but soon enough the boys notice how little Hyunjin is reacting — how his face and expression is slack and dull.

Jeongin holds up a finger to quiet down the ones still complaining, then gestures towards the front entrance.

“Minho left with them a while ago.” The look on his face is one of pity. Hyunjin hates it.

He nods; stuffs his hands in his pockets as he turns to the door.

“Wait! I’m not done—!” Jisung struggles against Chan and Changbin, but he’s no match.

Hyunjin doesn’t stick around long enough to hear what happens next.

He has no sense of what to do when he walks out that door. Go home, maybe.

The night breeze hits him with more force than it should, making his eyes go dry and his lips tremble. Outside, everything is almost too loud. There’s traffic on all sides, surrounding the lot of the theatre; the sound of humming engines and honking horns assaults his senses.

He walks — though it feels like wandering — to the parking lot, where he plans to look around for a bus stop.

You’re there.

A mirage, he thinks at first, but you’re really there, sitting on one of those concrete barriers, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. You have your head lowered as you sit, hands braced on the cold concrete.

His held breath escapes him, and you look up.

“You’re here,” you say. The smile on your lips, ever so slight and ever so bitter, causes a ringing in his ears. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“I...”

“It’s a lie, right?” Your eyes glisten, but no tears fall. “You wouldn’t— I’m not— I’m not  _ that _ naive, am I?”

Hyunjin’s lips part, but nothing moves past them. His hands itch to leave his pockets, but with nothing to reach for, they stay still.

“...I see.”

You drop your head again, bringing your hands together to fiddle with your fingernails. He hears your breath, shaky as it is, and his lungs constrict.

“God, it felt so real. I thought— I guess I don’t know what I thought, huh?” A shiver runs through you. “Was any of it real?” you ask the ground.

Hyunjin longs to answer. That’s the thing, though.

He doesn’t know.

_ Can _ any of it be real?

You laugh. Before, your laugh was spring strawberries; summer warblers; winter snowdrops. Now, your dry laughter echoes in Hyunjin’s mind like a pebble in a failed attempt of skipping stones.

“Guess not.”

You hop off the concrete barrier, wiping off your pants of dust and dirt. Still, you don’t meet his eyes.

Hyunjin’s heart beats in a way he knows isn’t natural. Guilt seeps through every orifice. “You’re not... you’re not yelling at me. You’re not crying — you’re not angry,” he stumbles through. “Why?”

It’s then that when you meet his eyes, he notices the red of your skin, the flush of your cheeks. You  _ have  _ been crying, just in the time it took for him to come across you.

“I’m just disappointed in myself, Hyunjin,” you say. “I’m the one who fell for it so easily. I’m the one that was tricked. I’m the one who—” a breath “—who loved someone that didn’t love me back.” You step closer, arms limp at your side. “Once I get home, sure, I’ll cry my eyes out. Is that what you want to hear? I’ll curse myself for being so... so  _ stupid _ .”

“It’s not your fault—”

“No, it’s not. This is not my fault. All I did was believe the words you said to me. All I did was hand myself to you on a silver platter.” Unshed tears brim at your eyelids, but it seems you refuse to let them fall. “But you know the worst part, Hyunjin?”

_ Everything? _

“The worst part is I can’t yell at you. I’m not angry because I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back and it  _ hurts _ and I can’t bring myself to hate you despite being told you’ve never thought about me the way I think about you.”

A breathy gasp escapes you, and you turn on a dime, the sight of your back an icy reminder to Hyunjin of what he’s yet to learn. You take a deep breath to gather yourself, shoulders rising and falling.

“I’ll be going now. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Hyunjin doesn’t move from his spot when you walk away, or when you get into Minho’s car, which pulls away after a moment of sitting there in its parking spot. His feet are stuck in stiff mud, unable to shift, even.

Perhaps he stands there for too long. It’s not until he’s staring down the front of his apartment that he realizes one of his friends must have dropped him off.




He hasn’t heard from you in a few days. He hasn’t heard from  _ anyone _ in just as long.

Seungmin already knew (not everything, but enough) by the time Hyunjin rolled out of bed the day after. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Hyunjin can tell this silence isn’t the same as usual. They rarely eat meals together anymore. Last movie night, Seungmin didn’t even pretend to be busy, instead saying he simply wasn’t in the mood.

Jisung hasn’t left your side ever since...  _ that _ happened. If Hyunjin happens to see you on campus, which is almost never, he backs out of approaching you because of the sheer force that is Jisung’s glare. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say even if he did find the courage to face you.

Classes go by in blurs. Not quickly, like scenery past a car window, but so slow that once Hyunjin leaves, he remembers nothing but hours upon hours of staring at his empty notebook, even if the lecture was only fifty minutes long. Days are kind of like that too.




Sojung apologizes. She shouldn’t, but she does.

Hyunjin didn’t really hate what he did at first. He liked her, after all.

But when Sojung chokes on her own words, pleading to whoever will listen that  _ she’s not that kind of girl _ , Hyunjin regrets kissing her more than he ever wanted to kiss her in the first place.




**please let me explain**

**I’m sorry**

**it’s been a while, but still**

**I’m sorry**

**[🍥] Explain what?**

**[🍥] ...**

**[🍥] Hyunjin?**

**sorry I just**

**I wasn’t expecting you to answer**

**[🍥] Maybe I shouldn’t have**

**no**

**wait**

**I’m sorry**

**[🍥] So I’ve heard**

**I just want you to know why what happened, happened**

**[🍥] But I already know why**

**it’s not that simple**

**[🍥] You lied because you suck at lying. Because you knew Sojung was there that night and panicked. I was just collateral damage**

**[🍥]** ...

**[🍥] No answer, huh?**

**[🍥] So it really is that simple**

**please wait**

**I’m just trying to figure myself out**

**[🍥] Let me help you**

**[🍥] You want my forgiveness because you feel guilty. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you want me to say I forgive you just so you won’t have to carry this around for the rest of your life**

**[🍥] I know this isn’t some romcom. I know you’re not here to get me back**

**[🍥] So just let it go**

**[🍥] Let’s just forget about this. About what happened**

**what if I can’t**

**[🍥] I don’t know**

**[🍥] Figure it out, I guess**

**[🍥] But do it on your own**




Hyunjin doesn’t measure his time anymore.

He wakes up. He eats. He goes to class. He skips lunch. He goes home. He eats. He falls asleep.

When was the last time he went out with someone? When was the last time he had a real conversation?

He doesn’t know.




**[Minho] You should tell everyone else**

**why**

**[Minho] Would you rather they think you’re a cheater or just an idiot?**

**I don’t know**

**[Minho] I think they deserve an explanation**

**[Minho] Want me to do it for you?**

**does it even matter anymore**

**[Minho] It’s your choice**

**[Minho] You just have to make it**

**then tell them**

**I don’t care**

**[Minho] Are you sure?**

**tell them**




These days, Hyunjin stays late at the studio. No one really practices there anymore, not since the showcase finished and finals have rolled around. Actually, Hyunjin should be studying too, but he can’t find the motivation. He thinks it might be the guilt.

You were right. He doesn’t want to carry this around.

The thing is, despite spending entire evenings in the studio, he can’t remember anything as he walks home. It must be hours spent in there, and yet, when he walks out, he can’t recall a thing. Like he was never there at all.

Where does the time go?

With his luck, the elevator is broken when he returns to the apartment building, so he has to take the stairs. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but after hours of mindless, sloppy dancing, he’s much too tired. He fumbles with his keys when he tries to open the door, and he rests his forehead on the cool wood for a moment, sighing before he tries again.

The door creaks open. Though it’s late, the lights are still on, which Hyunjin frowns at when he realizes. Lately, Seungmin is never up when Hyunjin comes home. But there he is, sitting at the table right next to the kitchen with his eyes on his hands and his feet tucked under the chair.

Hyunjin freezes after shutting the door behind him, not wholly sure what to make of the scene before him.

After a moment of silence, Seungmin looks up from his fingers and meets Hyunjin’s gaze.

“Minho called me today,” he says.

Hyunjin gulps, but doesn’t respond — doesn’t know how to.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first, you know.” His voice is slow, croaky; tired. “But it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it. I don’t know how I didn’t see from the start.”

Slowly, Hyunjin slips off his shoes and steps further into the apartment. “So you know. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“I just have a question.”

Hyunjin pauses, halfway through the apartment and only a few meters from his bedroom door. He turns to face Seungmin, sighing through his nose and digging his palms into his eye sockets. “Fine,” he concedes. “What?”

“If you never loved — never  _ liked _ them, why are you acting like this now?”

“Acting like what?”

“Like a dead man walking.”

Hyunjin scoffs, a dry, empty sound as he looks away for a moment before meeting Seungmin’s gaze again. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “I lied to someone for  _ months _ . I pretended to love someone I didn’t. I used them because of my own stupidity and pride, and then I used Sehee, too—” Pausing, he closes his eyes; takes a breath. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s guilt. I feel guilty for... for everything.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Excuse me?”

Seungmin rhythmically taps the pads of his fingers on the table. It’s not loud enough to be heard, but Hyunjin’s eyes train to the sight. “It’s only the guilt?”

“What else would it be?”

This time, it’s Seungmin who sighs. He looks at his hands again for a second. “Do me a favour,” he says without looking up.

“Look, I already—”

“Just do what I say.”

Hyunjin groans, but he knows he can’t argue with Seungmin and win — not now at least. He rubs his eyes, shoulders rising and falling as he takes in a deep breath. Mumbling under his breath, he says, “Fine.”

Seungmin stands from his chair, and in such stagnant silence, the sound of the legs squeaking on the floor is profound. He points to the middle of the apartment, the large bit of floor-space that’s too big to be considered part of the kitchen but too small to house any furniture.

“Stand right there.”

“...What?”

Without answering, Seungmin simply points at the floor again, and Hyunjin can only groan in defiance as he moves to stand in that spot. Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch, Seungmin steps a few feet away, facing Hyunjin with the pillow held in one hand at his side. He seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hey, um, sorry in advance.”

Hyunjin has never been unable to read Seungmin this much, so he asks, “What is this all about—”

Seungmin screams. Not a high-pitched screech, but a guttural battle cry, and Hyunjin’s eyes widen. Faster than he can comprehend, Seungmin runs towards him and tackles him to the ground. Hyunjin’s legs crumble as he falls, and he feels the throw pillow pressing onto his face.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies.

“Seungmin!” he cries, but his protest is muffled by the pillow. “What the fuck are you—!”

“You idiot! You don’t know shit!”

“I know that!” Hyunjin thrashes to get the pillow off, but Seungmin already has the advantage he needs.

“You miss them you fucking buffoon! You’re all in your doom and gloom because you had a good thing going and had to go fuck it up!”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t try to argue with me, fucker, I know you better than anyone. Now scream!”

The pillows squishes further down, and while Hyunjin can still breath, it’s far from comfortable. He continues to struggle even though he knows it’s useless.

“What?!”

“Scream into the pillow! You’re mad at yourself and you should be! Let it all out!”

“I—”

“Scream!”

And he does. He lets out a loud bellow that’s nothing but sound roaring from his lungs. He does it mostly to appease Seungmin — so that maybe he’ll finally get off.

But it feels good.

No, not good, really. It feels awful. Everything feels awful. Yet, something about screaming makes him want to do it again. He yells once more into the pillow, the sound muffled in the fabric and yet intensely remarkable. He screams and he screams and he screams until he can’t scream anymore and his voice is raw and there’s no more sound aside from the fractured gasps of his sobs. Tears soak into rough fabric, and he doesn’t even notice that Seungmin isn’t holding the pillow anymore — he’s pressing it to his face himself. His body shakes under Seungmin. Hyunjin feels pathetic, but he can’t stop.

He tries again to scream into the pillow, but his voice cracks and all he knows is to cry.

This is what it’s like.

Quietly, Seungmin maneuvers himself so he sits by Hyunjin’s head. He slowly lifts a corner of the pillow and peeks at Hyunjin’s red face. “So,” he whispers, voice soft and full of care, “what are you going to do now?”

Hyunjin wraps his arms around the pillow, hiding his face again.

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s never felt less sure of anything. “I don’t know.”




That night, Hyunjin cleans his room. He doesn’t reorganize or anything, just picks discarded clothes up off the ground and throws them in a hamper, spreads his blankets so his bed actually looks bed-like, and takes his overflowing garbage bin out to the door, where he’ll take it out tomorrow morning. As he stretches his arm between his bed and the wall, his fingers close around the sweater he’s trying to reach and... something else. When he brings his hand back up, a small llama plush stares back at him.

_ It’s no prob-llama! _

He stares at the words for a moment, sitting up on his bed and leaning his back against the wall. The plush feels frail in his hands, almost like the velvet heart held on the llama’s back could crumble at any moment. Maybe it will.

Hyunjin settles down above the covers that night, and the llama sits on his other pillow.

The one that still smells like you.




He cries. (For the second time since you left.)




After everything that’s happened, one would think it would take a miracle to fix what’s been broken. Hyunjin thinks it will take more than that, but still; he’s no miracle worker. He thinks it will take magic to just  _ see _ you again.

Turns out, it takes a coffee.

Seungmin forces Hyunjin to join him in visiting one of the campus cafes. He doesn’t think about it too much, just believes Seungmin’s trying to keep him alive with a little kick of caffeine. That thought is pushed away when Seungmin blocks him from sitting at the little table, pointing instead across the space to the student printing center.

You’re talking to a customer at the front counter, forearms rested on the white faux marble. A smile is on your lips as you say whatever it is you’re saying to the girl, and Hyunjin finds it almost impossible to tear his eyes away. But he does. He scans the rest of the building for a second. Jisung is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Minho.

He turns to Seungmin, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“They told the bodyguards to back off,” Seungmin explains without needing to be asked. “It’s been a few days.” He nods his chin towards you. “Go on. Talk to them.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, gulping down the words he can’t yet think of. “I don’t... I’m not... ready.”

“If you back out now, you’re going to keep backing out until it’s too late.”

Seungmin’s eyes blaze with an unfitting determination for such a setting. He looks stupid, like some self-made, all-knowing relationship guru. Still, he’s right.

Hyunjin licks his dry lips and looks at you again. You’ve sat down, relaxed after having helped that customer and now conversing with one of the other students working there. He misses the way you looked when you were happy — when you were happy with  _ him _ .

What will it take to see that again?

What will it take to hold you again?

His feet move before his doubts can stop him, and the scene feels awfully familiar. This time though, Hyunjin can’t help but feel like the bad guy.

You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, and he doesn’t know what hurts more: the immediate frown, or the fake smile you use to cover it up.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?”

If Hyunjin had to define heartache, he might use this moment. Feigning to forget rather than acknowledging the past... it’s effective, but it hurts.

“Can...” He hesitates and curses himself for it. “Can we talk?”

“About printing, yes. About anything else? I really would rather we didn’t,” you say under your breath. It’s hushed, and you don’t shy away when Hyunjin leans closer to hear. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

“But there’s something I need to say.”

“I don’t think I want to hear anymore apologies, Hyunjin.”

“It’s not that,” he argues.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s not an apology?”

“No— I mean, well,  _ yes _ I want to apologize. I don’t think I’ll ever stop apologizing, but— but that’s not what I—”

“Hyunjin.”

He stops at your word, knowing that speaking will only get him further into trouble. Around you, his words keep failing. Instead, he meets your eyes, which under more inspection, seem hardened.

Have eyes ever looked so hardened when brimmed with tears?

“I don’t know if you know this, but seeing you makes me hate myself.” By now, your coworker has walked to the back, probably to respect your privacy. Your voice almost cracks. “I’ve felt worthless before, but Hyunjin, do you even realize what that — what  _ you _ did to me?”

He barely breathes before saying, “What if I... what if I said I fell in love with you? Somewhere along the way?” A pause. Your eyes waver, but steady themselves. “What if I said I love you?”

“Hyunjin,” you say after a second.

“Yes?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”




**[🍥] Give me a reason to give you a chance**

**this is real right?**

**[🍥] It’s not a dream if that’s what you’re asking**

**all of a sudden??**

**[🍥] Minho and Seungmin said I should**

**[🍥] And I think I should too**

**[🍥] But it’s hard**

**[🍥] What you said yesterday... I don’t know if I can believe it just yet**

**will you meet me?**

**I want to see you**

**[🍥] Can you give me some time?**

**yes**

**all the time you need**

**but will you?**

**will you meet me?**

**[🍥] I don’t want to**

**[🍥] But then again, I do**

**[🍥] Just give me some time**




A strange thing, time. It passes by much too quickly when you want it to last, and it drags on when all you want is to be there. There; right then; right now.

Hyunjin stays up late turning on and off his phone, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

It’s only been two days.

Seungmin thinks he’s crazy, though he hasn’t said it out loud — Hyunjin can tell.

He also thinks he might be a little crazy, but that’s okay. If it means he’ll get the chance to make it up to you... maybe he’s fine with being crazy.

At some point, Seungmin barges into his room and takes away Hyunjin’s phone, snatching it straight out of his hands like the little thief he is. He keeps it out of reach, preaching bullshit like, “You need to calm down and act like a normal person!”

Fine, whatever.

Hyunjin goes out for some air. And instant ramen.

There’s a twenty-four hour convenience store right on the edge of campus, manned by a single tired university student that everyone is aware of, yet no one really seems to know his name. It’s one of those spots where time doesn’t exist; maybe names don’t, either.

Compared to the blackness of night, the blanch white convenience store sticks out like a sore thumb, especially with all the bright posters and fluorescent tube-lights. Hyunjin feels just as out of place in a place with no people just outside the store, but really, it’s to be expected at a time like two in the morning.

He’s right at the door when it chimes and slides open. And so are you.

Both of you freeze where you are, you in the doorway and he just in front. His jaw slacks slightly as he takes you in.

You’re in casual clothes again, a thick sweater and presumably pyjama pants. This version of you comes with good memories — for some reason he likes it more than he cares to admit. Maybe he liked that you could share a more vulnerable side to him, and he to you in return. Although, you’ve shown this side to even the unnamed convenience store guy.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his reverie.

“Hyunjin,” you say, and it’s softer than before. Maybe your voice is lighter from the fact that it’s two in the morning, maybe just because you’re tired, but a small part of Hyunjin wishes that it’s something else — that you sound softer because you’ve missed him too.

He hopes it isn’t just hope.

He says your name, the sound beautiful and battered on his tongue. A small smile passes your lips, so fast that he almost misses it, but he doesn’t. That’s one thing he knows about you: how much you care. Even if someone hurts you, you always take the time to hear them out. You give them chances. Hyunjin should thank his lucky stars that you’ve done the same for him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You smile again, and it reaches your eyes, however sad.

“Is it time?” he asks.

“It can be.” The plastic bag in your hand crinkles as you sway it back and forth. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes out like a breath. “Please.”

“Then that’s what we’ll make it.”

You gesture to the ground, where the curb meets the asphalt, but Hyunjin is still a little shocked that he’s even met you here in the first place, so he watches, dazed, as you sit down on the curb before joining in. He stays silent as you pull out an ice cream cup and hand it to him. He stays silent as you procure a second one and peel open the plastic lid, digging into it with the wooden stick spoon-wannabe that comes with the package. He stays silent as you look at him, the wooden stick hanging from your mouth.

“So,” you say, scraping the side of the paper cup. Meeting his eyes, you sport a sly smile. “I hear you’re in love with me.”

The ice cream stays unopened in his hands. He finds it so easy to smile back.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You think you are?”

“I’ve never loved someone like this before,” he tries to explain, though the words are slow to his tongue. “I can only think.”

“I guess so.”

“But—” he looks at his fingers, fiddling with the plastic lid of the cup, and a small laugh escapes “—I’m thinking really,  _ really _ hard.”

You laugh too; his heart blooms.

“Is that so?” you tease, smiling around the wooden spoon. “It’s gonna take more than that.”

“I think I can do it.”

“You think?”

“I think  _ really _ hard.”

Hyunjin might be in love with every part of you, even if he never realized. Your laugh, your smile, your tells, your habits. He wishes he knew sooner, that this laugh could’ve been his forever long before now.

You scrape the last drops of ice cream out of the paper cup and leave the stick in your mouth, a bit chewed up. Your shoes tap against the asphalt, the rhythm something that draws both his and your eyes.

“You know...” you say, turning your head to meet his gaze once more. “You know you hurt me, right? You know this won’t be easy?”

“None of what we had was easy.”

A scoff runs past your lips. You bump your shoulder against his. “Speak for yourself. I fell hard and fast for you, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” You take the still unopened ice cream from his hands and stuff it right back in the bag it came from. “Say it again, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm... maybe it’ll take a few more times.”

“I’m—”

“But not tonight,” you say. “Tonight...”

Your hand beside him closes the distance, grazing over his and pulling it over to your lap.

“...just hold me?”

And he does.


End file.
